


When You Least Expect It

by kinfic2



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-03
Updated: 2013-02-03
Packaged: 2017-11-28 00:04:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/668002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinfic2/pseuds/kinfic2
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cleanliness is next to godliness.<br/>Written from Brian's POV</p>
            </blockquote>





	When You Least Expect It

     “What the fuck are you doing?” I stood in the doorway of the loft and stared.  
  
      Without missing a beat, he grumbled, “What the fuck does it look like I’m doing?”  
  
     “Well, considering that the first thing I noticed when I walked in was you on hands and knees, shaking your ass at me, I figured we were either going to play Twister or fuck. But now that I see the bucket and rubber gloves, maybe I underestimated your interest in the kinkier side of sex, Sunshine. Opens up a whole new world of possibilities.” That idea certainly piqued my interest—and my dick's.  
  
      I walked toward him to get a better view, unable to shake bizarre thoughts of _Little Red Riding Hood_. Oh, grandmother, what a terrible big mouth you have! All the better to eat you with, my dear!  
  
      I couldn’t help but smirk. “You do know, don’t you, that answering a question with another question implies a guilty conscience?”  
  
      He pulled back from all fours and rested on his calves, brushing a forearm over his face, ostensibly to wipe away his sweat. But I knew better. I was about to get another lecture. _Brian, you really are such an ass. How the hell do I put up with you?_  
  
      In his best patronizing voice, he reminded me, “In case you’ve forgotten, Mr. Kinney, your son is spending the weekend-here-with us-in the loft.”  
  
      Knowing it would piss him off, I mimicked his inflection, giving him a swift kick in that delicious ass with the toe of my Prada shoe. “When-did-you-turn-into-a human-version-of-CLUE?”  
  
      He glared in my direction with his patented woe-is-me look. That’s what Justin does best, in addition to put-downs and a few other unmentionable, extraordinary talents.  
  
      Turning away without answering, which he knew would piss _me_ off, he continued to wipe the floor in front of the sofa, moving his arm in deliberate circles.  By now, I was horny as hell at the sight of him on his knees, bubble butt wiggling in the air, taunting me.  
  
      I swallowed past the tightness in my throat. The tightness in my pants was another story. “Justin....”  
  
     “Hang on a sec. I’m almost done.” One last swipe of the rag was the obvious coup de grâce he needed. He sat back on his heels, admiring his finished work. “There!”  
  
      I had already taken off my jacket and tie and was making the shirt history as well when he started to get up. “Don’t! That’s a good position for you.” Barely able to get the words out, my voice sounded like sandpaper. What the fuck was it about this kid? I dropped to my knees behind him, struggling to undo my belt and zipper with one hand, tugging at his baggy sweats with the other.  
  
     “Brian! I just clea—”  
  
      I had no problem breaking his concentration. Justin is a slut for a good rim job and using his guttural moans as a barometer, I gave him one. I tongue-fucked his hole like a dying man, breathing in his scent as if it were my last breath and feasting on his ass as if it were my last meal—nirvana.  
  
      In addition to my brilliant fucking, I’m fucking brilliant when it comes to multi-tasking. Holding him open, I nipped and sucked the puckered skin until it flamed red and shone with my spit while I groped under the sofa cushions for the well-placed lube and condom. A place for everything and everything in its place, I always say. There are definite advantages to a well organized home.  
  
      It took all of thirty seconds before I started pushing into him, inch by torturous inch. I wanted to take it slow, draw it out, but the heat of his ass made that impossible. Fuck! Would I ever get tired of this?  
  
      I wasn’t even fully inside before he suddenly arched up and pushed back, eager to get the show on the road. Struggling for control against the unexpected movement, my fingers tightened their grip on his hips, no doubt leaving an imprint on his pale skin for days. Tales of my incredible sexual stamina are legendary on Liberty Avenue, and rightfully so, but when it comes to Justin, I have to psyche myself up in advance. This wasn’t one of those times. When I heard his throaty “Fucking do it,” I was lost.  
  
      It was fast and furious, definitely one of our top ten fucks. Turned on by the sheer debauchery of the scene, I pounded him like a prizefighter. Down and dirty, I showed no mercy. And he couldn’t get enough, grunting with every battering thrust in his ass and cursing with every vigorous yank of his hair.  
  
      When a particularly accurate plunge hit the right spot at the right angle, it was over. He stiffened and gave a sharp gasp as he splattered the floor, squeezing me in a chokehold for dicks that sucked the air out of my lungs. Pushed over the edge, I pulsed into the condom with blood hammering against my temples and white noise filling my head. Still twitching from the after shocks, I couldn’t hold myself up and collapsed on top of him, flattening him against the hard wood. Unable and unwilling to move, we waited for the other necessary life functions in addition to fucking—breathing and heartbeats—to return to normal.  
  
      Before pulling out, I kissed his shoulder, its salty taste a warm balm against my mouth, and lapped up the few droplets of puddled sweat too enticing to ignore. When I lit my post-fuck cigarette and took a deep drag, he didn’t even stir. I shifted onto my back, stretched my legs, and exhaled a thin stream of smoke.  
  
      He struggled to push himself up but sank back down with a groan. “Fucking Ugh! Do you have any fucking idea what I’m lying in?”  
  
      Still coming down from my post-orgasmic high, his words barely registered. I looked at him as if he had two heads but gave it my best shot.  
  
     “Since we just fucked, I’ll take the category, ‘Obvious Answers’ and forfeit my monetary winnings for a prize to be determined in the near future. ‘What’s the creamy white liquid that shoots out of a cock?’ Hmm, let me think!”  
  
      Justin failed to appreciate my witty talent—the lad has no sense of humor— as I hummed the _Jeopardy_ theme song off key, offering a sharp elbow in the ribs as proof of his pissiness.  
  
     “What the fuck was that for?” Shit! That hurt!  
  
     “You’re an asshole, you know that?”  
  
     “Why? What the fuck did I do?” I honestly didn’t know, in contrast to other occasions when I did but selectively chose to ignore the fact.  
  
      His jaw tightened and his face pinched into a frustrated scowl. “Do you have any idea what I was doing when you came home?”  
  
     “Other than filling me with lascivious thoughts that turned into equally lascivious actions?” That earned me another poke, this time by a muscular foot against my calf. He has the strongest toes and feet! Trust me, I know, having been subjected to various prods in the middle of the night as well as a few interesting...well, never mind those.  
  
     “Ouch! Will you fucking stop? I’m not your personal punching bag!” I massaged my leg in mock exaggeration, but damn, he did land a good shot.  
  
     “For your information, Mr. Kinney,” he stated in _that_ voice again, “I was cleaning the stains from our last ‘liaison’ to prepare for Gus’s visit. Do you want him crawling around in, to use euphemisms from a badly written romance novel, ‘love’s sweet lava’ or ‘exploding molten juices’?” His eyes narrowed dangerously. He had thrown down the gauntlet in defiance, giving me free will—as if I ever had free will with him—to decide our fate for the next few nights and also our sleeping arrangements.  
  
      Trying to gauge his mood, I opened my mouth and quickly shut it, feeling like a fish. I almost opened it again but thought better of it after deciding it wouldn't hurt to err on the side of caution. Instead, I looked him straight in the eye and really meant it when I admitted, “No, I don’t, ok? I didn’t think, I mean I....” There was nothing I could say that wouldn’t come across as a crock of shit so I mumbled thanks and hurriedly stood up.  
  
      He does things like this, sensing what has to be done when I don’t have a clue or bailing me out of a jam without asking for anything in return. He’s always there for me. It's unnerving and disconcerting for a shitload of reasons, but the most important one is that I know it won't last.  
  
     “Hey!” One word. He didn’t say anything else. Didn’t have to. His eyes said it all. “Give me a hand getting up?”  
  
      I held out my hand to him and he grabbed it with a strength I wish I had. Maybe if the proverbial Luck of the Irish looked over my shoulder, some of it would rub off on me.  
  
      Never one to wallow in sentimentality, I swallowed to clear my throat and my head. Leading him to the shower, I murmured in his ear, “That was fucking hot! But next time, _I’m_ going to wear the gloves. We can play doctor/patient. ”    
  
                                                        THE END


End file.
